


Programmed Misadventures

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [64]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Obi-Wan and his men are trapped underground, his medic is particularly acerbic, he is overdue for his next fix of tea, and Wooley just saw an orange bat steal his lightsaber.Obi-Wan neverdidget the hang of Taungsdays.
Series: Soft Wars [64]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 81
Kudos: 708





	Programmed Misadventures

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Art Of Bajur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459539) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506). 



> Was feeling Obi-Wan-ish and Tumblr uniformly requested a Gizmo and Widget reappearance. So here we are. Enjoy!
> 
> And here THEY are! [Gizmo and Widget](https://dragneel-twins.tumblr.com/post/617232931332702208/obi-sitting-droids-the-little-dudes-had-my) by the wonderful Echo of [@dragneel-twins](https://dragneel-twins.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

“So the good news is you didn’t break your damn neck and you haven’t karked up anything that wasn’t already karked up when we landed.”

There’s a certain type of trooper they make a medic, Obi-Wan thinks. Professional, but painfully direct. “Thank you Bore. Your commentary is, as always, insightful.”

Bore sniffs. “You _are_ dehydrated though, which falls under the _already karked up_ chute, and since we’re on the topic of _things you’re karking up in yourself_ General-”

“ _Thank you Bore_.” Obi-Wan wrestles his way to sitting upright and runs an assessing eye over the gathered troops. Fine, red dust covers them all, motes of it still dancing in the beams of their helmet lamps and the one, lone lantern Bore is using to work. Packs are discarded in a rough perimeter, also faintly red and smudged with hand-prints. A grubby group they are, for sure. A quick count, and it looks like everyone from the squad accompanying him is accounted for and in one piece. “Alright Waxer?” he calls. Waxer, propped up against one wall, waves back.

“Rang his bell in the cave-in,” Bore reports. “No concussion, man’s got pure duracrete between his damn ears. Letting a painkiller work its way through his skull, he’ll be up in a breath. Dings all round otherwise General, but we’re functional.”

Functional, but trapped. Both the walkway and the ceiling had given way, and Obi-Wan hadn’t had enough time to try to pull everyone to the side of the collapse closer to where they’d entered the tunnels. Who knows how many dozens of feet are between them and the other side? Who knows how much of that tunnel had collapsed? And while this tunnel system had once been used regularly by subterranean dwellers, that had been centuries ago and upkeep hasn’t exactly been a priority for the now-dominant surface culture.

And the day had started so promising, he thinks snidely. He should have _known_ that getting to drink his entire breakfast tea without interruptions was an ominous sign. Must be another Taungsday in Ghost Company.

“Comms?” he asks with little hope. They'd lost comms long before the collapse; it wasn't likely to have fixed things.

Boil and Wooley have heads bent together in a corner, viciously arguing and involved enough they don’t seem to hear Obi-Wan’s question at all. With each word Wooley’s agitation seems to grow and though Obi-Wan can’t hear, he can tell that Boil is growing increasingly cutting, as is his way. “Gentlemen?” Obi-Wan calls, and they both snap around to face him.

“Sir!” They share a look, and Wooley fidgets more pointedly. “Sir,” he finally says. “Do you. Uh. Can you call your sword? Sir?”

“Wooley thinks he saw an orange bat fly out of the rocks and steal your lightsaber,” Boil interrupts.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber isn’t hooked to his belt. He can’t sense his kyber crystal.

“I didn’t say it _was_ a bat I said it _looked_ -”

“Thinks it took off down one of the corridors with it,” he continues. “And that we should go chasing… sir?”

Obi-Wan is on his feet, snatching up his pack. “Which corridor?” he asks with urgency. The space behind them yawns with a half dozen gaping, pitch black entrances uniformly uninviting. No one’s mapped these tunnels, Obi-Wan remembers. Not for decades. Something in the rock affects sophisticated navigational systems.

The tone startles all four troopers into silence. Wooley recovers first. He whirls on Boil

“I _told you_ ,” he hisses.

“Trooper, which corridor?” He snaps to attention.

“I’ve marked it, sir. It starts out large enough to walk four abreast, I didn’t get far enough to see whether it narrows or not.”

“But why would a bat steal the General’s lightsaber?”

“I didn’t say it _was_ a bat! I said it looked bat-like! Just. Rounder.”

Round. Flying. Orange, but given the poor light and the red dust everywhere that could have just as easily been gold. Grabbed his lightsaber when Obi-Wan dropped it while trying to pull his men out of the way of a cave-in.

Obi-Wan is going to _kill_ Anakin when he gets out of this. Cody too, for good measure.

“Get Waxer on his feet,” Obi-Wan orders. “Keep trying comms. I’ll go on ahead-”

“General? Respectfully? Kark that.” The troopers all nod vigorously in agreement with their medic. “Unless you’re gonna put on some shell and take a blaster. And some back-up.” It’s abundantly clear that isn’t a genuine offer. Waxer is already struggling to his feet and Bore is packing up his kit with alacrity.

There’s not a man in Ghost who would agree to a plan that allowed their General to be the advanced party in someplace uncharted. Unarmed? Obi-Wan doesn’t know why he bothered.

“It will be moving quickly,” he tries. He might as well have saved his breath.

The squad is up in a diamond formation, and Obi-Wan only spares a few seconds trying to argue Waxer into trading with him, moving from the right point into center where the injured trooper would be better defended. Obi-Wan would win, eventually, but they have no time. Wooley takes point, Boil rear, Bore holds his left and they set out at a troopers top maintaining pace.

Why? Why would that thing head _deeper_ into the tunnels under the mountain? What could that possibly accomplish?

Scrambled sophisticated navigational systems, Obi-Wan thinks, and allows a flash of irritation. The minerals in the rock have confused it. The fool thing has no idea where it is or where it’s going. And of course it’s not programmed to return Obi-Wan’s saber to _Obi-Wan_. So it’s going to try to find Cody, even if it’s running headfirst into the broad side of a mountain.

Obi-Wan is undeniably fond of Anakin, but he is most certainly going to kill him. And he’s going to bury his ashes in the coarsest, scratchiest sand in the galaxy.

The corridor stays mostly regular. It narrows to a two-person width occasionally, and the floor is often uneven with jutting rock. But the ceiling stays high enough to clear their heads, the passage never becomes too narrow to pass and turns are wide angled and easily traversable. Wooley marks their route every few hundred meters but for nearly two hours there are no turnoffs.

And then there are four.

They spill out into a large hall, a crossroads much like the one the cave-in had first forced them to retreat to. Four massive tunnels branch off in all directions, entries half-circles rimmed with brickwork. Ancient pillars hold up corners and reinforce the edges of the entryways. They’d been covered with markings once, writing haphazard and in many different hands, but much of it has been worn away with time. If Obi-Wan hadn’t been as worried and annoyed as he was, he’d be interested in studying them.

“We’re calling a break,” decides Bore, once Wooley has cleared the space as best as he’s able with the light. “Here, General.” Obi-Wan catches the canteen aimed at his head. “It’s water,” the medic continues, waspishly and unnecessarily. “Which is that stuff that most people drink-”

“Honestly Bore-”

“-To rehydrate instead of relying on _IVs when they pass out_.”

Obi-Wan drains a quarter of the canteen. It mollifies Bore, but hardly satisfies.

Medics, Obi-Wan has come to find, are rarely satisfied. Always one more thing they think you should be doing better. He sighs. Bore retreats to harangue Waxer. Strength to him, Obi-Wan thinks.

(He doesn’t tap his wrist. Cody had assured him it would be just fine for him to do it as well, and had said so with the oddest look as if there was a joke and Cody was the butt of it. But, well… Obi-Wan really isn’t comfortable potentially appropriating his men’s culture, especially given his position of authority. Cody had tried to assure him no one would think that, and it was very kind of Cody to say so. Still, Obi-Wan can ask the Force for strength just as easily without caricaturizing their rituals. Cody looked pained at that, and has since refused all attempts to get him to explain why.)1

“How far down do you think we are?” Wooley wonders.

“Too karking far.” Boil clanks his way heavily to check on Waxer, muttering the whole way as if he was reluctant but committed to duty.

At some point or another, _everyone_ in Ghost has stumbled across Boil and Waxer curled together in some corner like pups. Obi-Wan’s not entirely sure who this charade is for.

Wisely, Wooley drifts over to Obi-Wan instead of tangling in _that_ mess. “Alright General?”

“Perfectly, Wooley, thank you.” Obi-Wan would feel his skepticism even without the Force.

“What did Bore say?”

They’re just trying to be helpful, Obi-Wan reminds himself. They’re over-compensating, but that’s just the way they are. You pass out from low blood sugar once (twice) and no one ever lets you forget it.

Case in point: Wooley waves a snack portion ration bar in his vicinity. “Sorry we don’t have fruit, but The Manual says ration bars do have the correct nutrients even if they don’t taste great.”

They’ve all taken to referencing The Manual without ever bothering to explain what they mean and Obi-Wan is not ashamed to admit it grates. The Manual says he needs to eat at specific times. The Manual says he needs regular breaks from paperwork to do something mentally stimulating. The Manual apparently says Cody is required to give Obi-Wan regular hugs.

If Obi-Wan ever finds out who started this Manual, he’ll have a few choice words for them. He might even be tempted to find himself a copy _somewhere_ for the sole purpose of using it to smack the author.

Obi-Wan is _not_ a child to be coddled. He doesn’t say that: Wooley has the worst kicked-tooka face in the 212th. He won’t even have to _fake_ tearing up, Obi-Wan can feel his sorrow and concern welling up in the Force. He takes the snack bar and downs it with ill grace.

It tastes like loam. With a hint of marl, for variety.

He takes another drink of off-puttingly warm water from the canteen in the vain hope that it will wash the taste away. What he wouldn’t give for another cup of tea. Even the one of the disgusting, decaffeinated herbal ones Bore keeps trying to switch him to.

Maybe not that. Obi-Wan isn’t _desperate_.

“You feed him? Good man.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t waste the energy to glare at the medic. It is a pointless exercise. Something about painting the medic symbol onto their armor makes them immune to disapproval.

“Which way sir?” asks Boil.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. It may very well be that there’s something in the minerals that makes it difficult to reach out with the Force, because he feels little past this room. Not his kyber, not echoes of underground animals he can hear skittering in the dark. Not Anakin, who though he’s on the surface is enough of a supernova in the Force that Obi-Wan could feel him a system away.

Obi-Wan has nothing, except for one perfectly terrible idea.

He’s going to _kill_ Anakin. And Cody too. Obi-Wan hadn’t packed these blasted things in his kit this morning.

The Jedi stands and grimly strips off his robe. He ignores the bewilderment of his men, hopes the light is bad enough no one can see the flush high on his ears. He’d grown a beard in part to hide how easily his cheeks blushed, but there’s little he can do about his ears unless he’d like to try imitating Anakin’s hair.

Obi-Wan tosses his robe to the ground and shoulders his pack

Deep in his pack, precisely where he _didn’t_ put the Force-damned thing, Widget whirs to life.

(He _knows_ this is Widget. Obi-Wan has wasted an entire braincell to remembering that Widget is for the robe and Gizmo the saber. Anakin. Cody. _Dead_. And buried on Tatooine; Obi-Wan can’t think of any place worse.)

“Gentlemen,” he grits. Widget swirls off down the second from the left corridor, trailing Obi-Wan’s robe like a taunt. “Follow that droid.”

* * *

An hour later, technically Gizmo finds _them_.

Widget and Gizmo bash together in a parody of a headbutt, whistling cheerfully to each other and having the time of their little karking lives. Gizmo’s pincers are horrifically empty. Obi-Wan feels his caffeine-deprivation headache abruptly worsen.

“What did you _do_ with it you-”

“HA!”

The troopers are up and surrounding Obi-Wan, blasters drawn, when a squad bursts into the tunnel ahead of them.

“I told you he could backtrack! A few rocks aren’t going to stop _my_ droids!” Anakin leads. Cody follows, an additional pair of Ghost troopers behind him. One has medic markings. Cody has Obi-Wan’s lightsaber hooked to his belt. He’s disgustingly smug.

“Good work,” he says, tapping Anakin’s shoulder and patting Gizmo’s chassis. Widget snuggles up to him and rubs its chassis against his chin. “You too.” Cody smugly _smugly_ takes the proffered robe, neatly folds it over one elbow.

All three, Anakin and both droids, _beam_. Two of them don’t even have faces. Obi-Wan glares.

“Commander,” he greets icily. “Timely as ever.”

“Apologies, General. The tunnel entrance we came through is nearly ten kliks away from the one your squad started at.” He pauses meaningfully. “Gizmo came through it, to find us. Lucky they were with you.” How the man makes his helmet echo his grin, Obi-Wan hasn’t the faintest. He dislikes it.

Spite edges over to Bore and they re-balance their medical supplies between their packs. “Did you remember to feed him? He gets irritable when his blood sugar’s low.”

“Wooley got him. Got almost half a canteen in his karking face too.”

“Angling for that promotion, eh vod?”

Head high, Obi-Wan storms down the way Anakin and Cody came, determined to be the _only professional on this entire planet_ if he has to be.

It’s some hours later before he realizes Cody still has his saber. And his robe.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. If this is your first time dabbling in this little universe of mine, know that this is an in-joke that started [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407009). Back  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Teach a Clone to Fish](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26523214) by [Papook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papook/pseuds/Papook)




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